


FE3H Fluff Collection

by KainLightsworn



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Eating, Emotionally Repressed, F/F, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Gen, Introversion, M/M, Slightly Spicy, choir practice, finding faith, fluff collection, heartwarming moments, like so self indulgent, self indulgent, this is an excuse to not have everything I write be angst, working together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-01-02 04:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21155435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KainLightsworn/pseuds/KainLightsworn
Summary: Downtime is a necessity, whether one is at war or at work. A collection of various fluffy drabbles and vignettes. Tags, pairings, and genres will be updated as more are added.





	1. Work - M!Byleth/Seteth

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was basically born of my desire to see the amount of work that Seteth puts in behind the scenes. And because my thirst for the man is unquenchable, writing a one-shot with him and M!Byleth working together in silence was inevitable.

Regardless of how much he tried to stay on top of things, inevitably, by the end of each moon, Seteth would find his desk covered from corner to corner in paperwork. Though he kept a strict system of organization, it felt as though his carefully-controlled world threatened to spin into chaos as the documents he needed to organize piled higher and higher. This latest dispatch of orders for the Knights of Seiros went in the stack on the upper right-hand corner. The dossiers of the potential applicants for the Officer’s Academy went to the upper left. There was the last-minute paperwork that needed filing prior to the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. Because of the location of Gronder Field, age-old tradition or no, proper papers needed to be obtained for each of the students to allow passage through both Alliance and Empire territory. That, as the biggest demand of his time and attention, occupied the central space. And stacked off to the side of the desk were both Hanneman’s meticulously organized grades and all the various essays and tests Seteth could collect from the utter disaster area that was Manuela’s room.  
  
The advisor’s quill snapped in his grasp as he scrawled his signature across yet another request for passage. He groaned before opening the drawer to his desk to search for a replacement. He could feel a headache coming on, pounding in his temples. This would be another long, trying night. Which was why his tone was a bit sharper, perhaps, than was intended when a knocking came to his office door. “What is it?”  
  
The door creaked open to reveal the ever stone-faced Professor, Byleth Eisner. The mercenary’s stone-faced expression set Seteth’s nerves on edge at the best of times. Now, as exhausted and stressed as he was, the utter lack of human emotion made his fraying temper threaten to snap. Seteth struggled to keep his composure as he addressed the man. “Professor. You have your students’ grades for the mid-term, I presume?”  
  
Byleth nodded, extending a leather folder in his hand. “I wasn’t sure how to do it. I hope this works.”  
  
Seteth couldn’t keep a sneer off his face as he took the folder. Of course a child with no teaching experience would have no idea how to maintain a grade book, much less keep one to his- admittedly exacting- standards. His patience had long since fled him, so he opened the folder to give the mercenary-turned-professor’s paperwork a once-over.  
  
The advisor’s brow arched into his hairline as he saw a relatively slim collection of parchment within it. He flipped through each page and found neatly-kept, exacting records of each of the Golden Deer students’ assignments and examination grades. Not only that, but a thorough attendance record was kept as well. Lady Goneril could not be bothered to make it to class more than once a week, it seemed. He would need to have a discussion with her regarding her attendance later. While the Professor’s handwriting left something to be desired, it was legible enough.  
  
“Does that suffice?”  
  
The Professor’s query startled him, and Seteth struggled to regain his composure. “Frankly, Professor, I’m surprised. You’ve done better with record-keeping than I could have expected, given all reports I have of your past indicate that Jeralt was the one responsible for planning your mercenary ventures.”  
  
Byleth folded his arms, eyebrows drawn in a look of cold frustration. “He was, but even if he didn’t teach me directly, I paid enough attention to know the importance of keeping good records.” His posture relaxed. “Not to mention, my students are chaotic. If I didn’t keep precise records, it would be overwhelming.”  
  
Seteth heaved a sigh from a place far deeper than he intended as Byleth mentioned his students. The Golden Deer house was always difficult for even seasoned professors to handle. Even this year, he’d been forced to file more disciplinary paperwork than usual by the antics of Claude and Hilda’s truancy. “That, Professor, is an understatement.” He set aside Byleth’s grade book, and returned his attention to the vast mountains of paperwork still needed for the end of the moon. When he looked up and saw Byleth still standing there, he arched a brow. “Did you require further assistance?”  
  
Byleth tilted his head, sending his dark-green locks canting to the side. Seteth’s stomach moved strangely at the sight, though he discounted that as hunger from having skipped his nightly dinner with Flayn. “No, but it looks like you might. That seems overwhelming.”  
  
Despite himself, Seteth chuckled. “The stresses of battle are quite different from the stresses of clerical work. It takes an astonishing amount of forms to allow the monastery to function smoothly. Regardless, these documents require my signature, and mine alone, so you would not be able to assist me with that.”  
  
Byleth shook his head. “Wasn’t talking about those.” He pointed to the stack where Seteth had placed Manuela and Hanneman’s graded assignments. “I meant those. Manuela’s drunk handwriting can be, uh, hard to read. Maybe let me look through those and compile what I can get from all of those?”  
  
Seteth blinked. He had a specific system he typically used to compile grades when the professors did not use one of their own. It would be better if he did it all himself. Still, given the overwhelming amount of other work this particular moon required, if he did do it all himself, he would likely be up until the sunrise. And given he had promised to lead a seminar on the fighting tactics of ancient Fodlan the next day… “If you limit your assistance to compiling Manuela’s grades, then… yes, I suppose it would be more prudent to let you help.”  
  
Byleth nodded before moving to Seteth’s desk. He moved Hanneman’s file from the top of the pile of paperwork, and gathered Manuela’s full stack of essays and homework in his arms. After he moved Manuela’s work to a spare chair, he came back to Seteth’s desk with an expectant expression. The advisor felt momentarily confused, then realized that Byleth could hardly compile the grades without quills and parchment of his own. Seteth rummaged around in his desk drawers for a moment before withdrawing the spares the Professor silently requested. Their fingers brushed when Byleth took hold of the implements, leading to another undignified flip of his stomach.  
  
They worked in silence, the only sounds between them being the uneven scratching of quills against paper, and the turn of pages. Occasionally, they would stretch, or hum, or groan when a form or assignment proved particularly annoying. Seteth found he didn’t _dislike_ this companionable quiet, each keeping to their task. It reminded him of quiet days spent by the Rhodos Coast with-  
  
His quill snapped as his grip unconsciously tightened. Thinking of her now, when he needed to focus, was counterproductive at best. Not only that, but why had the Professor, of all people, brought the quiet days spent with his wife to mind? It wasn’t as though he felt affection for the man. He was simply a colleague. A colleague doing him a favor. Nothing suspect about that.  
  
Seteth glanced up from his task to check the progress of the Professor. It seemed they were keeping an even pace, each of their stacks of paperwork reduced by half. Perhaps it was the exhaustion settling in, or the generally dim candlelight of the office, but seeing Byleth bent over and focused, scratching away at his task, the young professor seemed oddly _attractive_.  
  
He blinked the thought away as soon as it formed. The gap between their ages was vaster than the Professor could even conceive. That they could interact companionably would be the best he could hope for. Ignoring the flutter in his chest, obviously caused by the strain put on his ancient heart from a chain of borderline-sleepless nights, he set himself back to work.  
  
When at last every last form for the Battle of the Eagle and Lion was complete, Seteth rose from his desk with a stretch and a yawn. When he opened his eyes, he found Byleth standing before him with a significantly smaller stack of papers and his vacant-eyed smile.  
  
“I wasn’t aware you could tire.” Byleth’s normally monotone voice held a slight lilt of teasing humor as he handed the paperwork over.  
  
“I am just as human as any other, and just as capable of tiring.” It took all of Seteth’s restraint not to laugh, both aloud and bitterly, at the sheer irony of his own reply. He took the stack of papers and laid it on his desk. “I’ll look over these tomorrow. I am sure Flayn is still awake and worried positively sick about me.”  
  
Byleth’s half-smile quirked to the side. “So I see the overprotective concern is mutual. Speaking of, she is a very bright young woman. She excelled on the certification exam for Pegasus Knights. Raphael will aid her in training her strength. I’m positive this move will be good for her.”  
  
The advisor couldn’t shake a certain sense of unease at the Professor’s words. “That position will place her near the front lines. Are you certain it will be a good idea for her to fly so far afield? Not to mention, it gives her no opportunity to make use of her natural proficiency for magic-”  
  
“She will return to magic after a few months, I’m sure. Still, she wished to help the frontlines as best she could. I figured her acting as a member of the aerial vanguard would be a way for her to gain that experience while keeping her far above the main conflict.”  
  
Seteth sighed. “As long as you keep a watchful eye for her.”  
  
Byleth nodded. “I understand. I will keep her safe. You have my word.”  
  
Strangely, Seteth found he believed him.  
  
“You’ve done well to raise her.”  
  
Seteth’s heart stopped at the Professor’s offhand comment. Had he seen? Did he know? Had someone betrayed his and Flayn’s secret? Did Flayn herself, in a moment of imprudence, choose to reveal it to him. “I beg your pardon?”  
  
Byleth shifted in place, looking as close to awkward as could be expected from someone so stoic. “The way Flayn speaks of her mother, it sounds as if she is no longer around. I just assumed after your parents passed, you took over the role of parent for her. Sorry.”  
  
It took all Seteth’s restraint not to heave a sigh of relief. That arrow in the dark hit far closer to the mark than he could ever let the Professor know. “No, it is… an understandable assumption. I am grateful she has become such a fine young woman, all things considered. It was difficult in the early years.” _That_ much, at least, was honest. “At any rate, thank you very much for your help, Professor. We both ought to find our way to bed, as the hour is late.”  
  
Byleth nodded. “Right. It was no trouble. Good night, Seteth.”  
  
Seteth returned the nod. “Good night, Professor.”


	2. Strangeness - M!Byleth/Jeritza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeritza is used to his comrades-in-arms staring at him. But the gaze of one man in particular is making it impossible for him to enjoy his favorite treat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by the latest free update to the game. It plays along a similar line to their in-game C support, but can be assumed to take place after it, since Byleth is no longer as... taken aback to see Jeritza act like a human.

Long had it been since Jeritza had allowed himself a simple pleasure that didn’t feed the demon within him. It felt like an age since the taste of sugar last graced his lips. So when he heard that their dining hall was serving a delightful peach sorbet, courtesy of his sister’s aid, he felt the need to stop by and sample the fruits of her labors. 

Barely had he set the chilled metal spoon to his lips to savor the glorious nectar and cream than he felt a set of eyes boring into him. Jeritza was no stranger to people staring at him, even those he worked with, but few dared to continue the act for more than a few seconds. He sighed, finishing a bite of his sorbet, and looked up from his one treat for himself this month to find the Empire’s latest asset, Byleth Eisner, staring down at him. He arched an ashen blond brow at the former Professor as he met his strange, emerald-eyed gaze. “What do you want?”

Byleth, unknowing or uncaring of his blatant annoyance, canted his head to the side and indicated the seat in front of Jeritza with a questioning expression. “May I sit?”

Jeritza turned his attention back to his sorbet with a nonchalant shrug. “I will not stop you.”

Byleth took the man’s words as an invitation, as evidenced by the sound of wood grinding against the floor. Jeritza’s stomach turned strangely at the knowledge that his colleague found sitting across from him preferable to leaving him alone. Whether it was because the demon within purred its contentment at having his foe’s throat so close to his grasp, or some more tender, sentimental nonsense, he was unsure.

The two men sat in companionable silence as Jeritza continued partaking of his sorbet. The incessant noise of all the other soldiers talking faded into a muddled thrumming. The only noise Jeritza could hear with clarity was the gentle but anxious tapping of Byleth’s fingers against the table. Such a sound from any other would have set his nerves on edge, yet coming from the Professor, he found the rhythm oddly musical. Like the pitter-patter of the paws of a kitten. After a long moment, Byleth broke the silence.

“Is that any good?”

Jeritza’s next bite of cold, delectable sweetness paused on its trek to his mouth. He lowered his spoon back into the bowl, something of a scowl on his face. “Mercedes was the one on kitchen duty today. Why not sample some for yourself?”

Byleth shrugged. “Very well. May I?”

Jeritza stared at him as he extended his hand expectantly. The instincts of the Death Knight screamed that this was some form of attack, he needed to defend himself. But killing their greatest asset here and now, in this dingy dining hall seemed ill-suited, to say the least. He kept a leash on the beast craving blood, and asked in a measured tone, “What are you doing?”

“I wouldn’t want the cook’s efforts to go to waste from me ordering a full serving and finding it not to my liking. If you’re not ill, I see no problem with using your spoon to sample a taste.”

Everything in Jeritza’s noble upbringing balked at the utter baseborn behavior and lack of manners Byleth displayed. Sharing utensils was utterly filthy, yet he could not deny that he found himself in contact with far more base fluids when he indulged the demon lurking in his soul. He scooped out a small spoonful of the sorbet and extended the handle of the spoon towards the mint-haired man. Byleth took the spoon and laid it against his lips, tongue flicking out to taste the creamy confection before he took the spoon into his mouth.

Jeritza couldn’t help but allow a sharp intake of breath as Byleth savored the contents of the spoon with a soft hum of contentment. Surely there was no need for him to make a noise that sounded so vestal, so lewd, at so simple a delight. When he, at last, removed the spoon from his mouth with an almost inaudible pop, his implacable eyes bored into his face once more.

“You’re staring.”

It was surely the heat of the dining hall that forced his cheeks to color as he took his spoon back from Byleth, not any form of arousal from watching his mouth work around the utensil to savor the sorbet. “You are a strange one.”

Byleth smirked. “So are you. A man of two faces, one soaked in blood and lusting for battle. Another contented with the simple pleasures of sweets and soft things.”

Jeritza sighed, taking another few bites of his sorbet, the sweetness turning sour in his mouth as he considered his response. “You are _hardly_ in a position to express such sentiments. You, too, bear two faces; a beloved professor, and the Ashen Demon slaying countless foes upon the battlefield.”

The small chuckle his observation earned him made Jeritza’s heart tremble. “Then in some ways, we are the same. Perhaps it would benefit us to spend more time together.”

Jeritza blinked as he continued to eat his melting ice cream. “Are you requesting I join you for your next skirmish?”

“If you’ve no objections to the idea.”

The demon within reared its head, summoned by the prospect of bloodshed to indulge in. His voice grew husky with excitement as he delivered his warning. “If you allow me loose upon the hunting grounds, I will kill you.”

The smirk upon Byleth’s face widened. “I welcome you to _try_.”

As the mint-haired man rose and walked away from the table, Jeritza was unsure whether it was the _Death Knight_ who was offended by the man’s utter lack of concern for his own life, or _himself_.

He scowled as he looked down at his bowl. His delicate sorbet had melted into useless slush while he’d been engaged in conversation with Byleth. All his sister’s hard work for his benefit had been for naught.


	3. Faith - Dorothea/M!Byleth (implied M!Byleth/Linhardt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorothea and the rest of the Black Eagles are forced to undergo a ridiculous amount of preparation for the Festival of Saint Cichol. Still, she cannot help but feel moved by the Professor's efforts and the power of music to unite.

When the option to join in a choir first floated by her door, Dorothea had been elated. Then, when it was announced that each house would construct special choral festivals for each of the saint days, her enthusiasm dampened. But only slightly. When she realized that meant she would be spending hours practicing singing alongside some of her less than talented, less than passionate, less than musical peers in the Black Eagles, her heart sank. And when they were less than a week from the Saint Cichol Choir Festival, under four days away from the ball for Garreg Mach Monastery Founding Day, and she had to spend her one free day this week stuck next to Ferdinand von Aegir, whatever joy she took in singing once more vanished entirely.

The Professor wasn’t intentionally trying to drive her mad, right? It was just unfortunate coincidence that the soprano section and the tenor section happened to be side by side. And even more unfortunate coincidence that she and Ferdinand were placed next to each other because of the way their voices naturally carried over the rest. Surely.

Then again, when the sopranos also boasted such projecting voices as Bernadetta von Varley and Marianne von Edmund, the Professor could hardly be faulted for wanting a strong voice to lead them.

Except for the fact that it felt like the Professor stopped rehearsal no less than five times requesting that Dorothea quiet her voice so that the others had a chance to shine. It took everything in her not to roll her eyes at the man as, once again, he halted a session in progress to call her out. “Professor, I’m singing as quietly as I possibly can. Why not train the others to project more? That will solve the problem.”

The Professor sighed, a look of bitter disappointment forming on his face. “I’ve been working on vocal training for Authority purposes with the more soft-spoken of our group all month in the hopes it would help us. But I can only do so much, if the others are unable or unwilling to apply it to this.”

“W-W-Well, giving orders on the battlefield is l-life or d-death! Performing in front of an audience is a totally different animal!”

“I have agreement. Performing in this Fodlan Church Ritual and giving commands to battalions are… fruits of different colors. They are not having that many similarities.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not much good with singing. I hope the Goddess isn’t angry…”

Hubert cut through the wave of self-deprecation with a scoff, a nasty sneer curling his lip. “Frankly, I cannot see the point in offering this much effort. It’s not as if the Goddess will smite us for giving a poor performance, after all.”

Dorothea had never seen the Professor look so defeated as he did in that moment. His shoulders dropped, a despairing look on his face. He buried his face in his hands with a loud groan that echoed over the other students’ complaints. The groan lasted long after the conversations of the students ran dry.

“Look, I now this isn’t something _any_ of you want to be involved in.” The Professor looked to Lorenz, Hubert, and Edelgard. “I know you’re not the most faithful.” He looked to Marianne and Bernadetta. “I know you don’t feel prepared to perform in front of people.” Dorothea squirmed as the Professor’s gaze came to rest on her. “I know you’re excited for the upcoming ball. But this is a task that Seteth set out for me to complete, and it reflects poorly on my skills as your instructor and _your_ skills as a house if this choir performance goes poorly. If for _no_ other reason, let _pride_ motivate you to do your best. Please.” He took a deep breath to regain his composure, then, with the mask of the Ashen Demon in place, said, “Let’s start again. From the top.”

Dorothea didn’t know whether the same guilt that made her heart heavy also weighed on the other students after the Professor’s near-breakdown. What she did know was that the run-through of the choral performance that followed was their best. The acoustics of the cathedral accentuated their _finally_-blending voices. Hubert and Lorenz’s bass tones formed the foundation on which Dorothea’s voice, backed by Marianne and Bernadetta pulling their weight at last, could soar. Ferdinand no longer tried to vocally compete with Dorothea, but rather, sought to compliment Linhardt and Caspar who, for once, was not trying to see how loud he could possibly get. Gooseflesh raised on Dorothea’s arms, and her eyes welled.

It was strange. She had never held much faith for the Goddess. Singing in the cathedral did little for Dorothea’s spirit; well, little more than the simple pleasure of singing. Yet seeing the way they all came together under the Professor’s leadership, seeing the unity inspired through music, something in her heart shifted. While the Professor had been forcing her, for practicality and utility’s sake, to study more Faith magic, she felt moved to approach the subject with more fervor.

Once practice was over, she stepped up to the Professor, leaning forward with a flirtatious smirk. “Oh, Professor~? Can I borrow you for a second?”

The Professor, impassive as ever, simply nodded and stepped to the side with her.

When the silence spiraled longer than Dorothea’s comfort could stand, she dropped the coy smirk in favor of a far more serious look. While she felt strong in her commitment earlier, when faced with _actually_ making this request of her professor, she hesitated. “I don't believe in the goddess, but... I do believe in you. You've taught us all so much, Professor. You've even taught me how to have faith.” She shifted awkwardly. “S-So, um- well. I would like to focus more on Faith magic. Please.”

The Professor, moved by her words, offered her a rare smile and nodded. “I’ll adjust your course material accordingly. We’ll push your certifications back until after moon’s end, to give you time to study the new material. All right?”

Dorothea grinned, her eyes sparkling. “Yes! Absolutely!”

She all but skipped out of the sanctuary that day, her mind swirling with happy thoughts of the ball, the handsome young bachelors there, and her ever-patient professor and the new course material she was soon to dive into. The ball was magical, even though she didn’t really meet a single bachelor who truly caught her interest. She thought she caught sight of the Professor following Linhardt to the Goddess Tower, but paid it no mind. Nothing could destroy her good mood, not even the disturbing mission that Jeralt was to accompany them on the following morning.

_ If only the magic could last. _

After Jeralt fell, the Professor crumbled. He stayed and wept over his father’s corpse for nearly half an hour. Even after Edelgard and Hubert called out to Hanneman and Manuela to help them move the body, the Professor did not move. Ferdinand dragged Dorothea back inside to avoid catching cold from the rain, and when she left the abandoned churchyard, she could still see the Professor knelt there, staring at nothing, motionless.

The Celebration of Saint Cichol and the funeral for Jeralt Reus Eisner were combined into a singular, solemn event. Though no one would have faulted them for not performing with their professor not there to lead them, the Black Eagles had come to a tacit agreement that the show would go on, whether their leader was there with them or not. Dorothea wasn’t sure whether her heart ached from the beauty of their best performance ever or the grief that their professor had lost his father and was now missing the best work his pupils had ever done.

Once the ceremony ended and everyone went their separate ways, Dorothea walked slowly to the main hall and up the stairs to the second floor. She saw Jeralt’s office door closed when all the others were open, and sighed. She gently knocked on the door, unsurprised when she heard no response. “Professor? I know you’re in there.” No answer. “E-Everyone’s been wondering where you’ve been. Even Edelgard.” She chuckled. “I’ve never seen Edie look as severe as she did earlier, when she realized that you weren’t coming.” 

She realized how insensitive that was and backtracked. “N-Not that she blames you, of course. Not that _anyone_ blames you. Y-You’ve lost your father. I can’t imagine what that must feel like.” She, for once in her life, lost track of her words. “I, um. The performance tonight went really well. The best we’ve ever done for choir. I know you would have been proud of us.”

No response. Not even the gasp of tears. Dorothea sighed sadly, and turned away. “Well, whenever you feel up to it, just know that we’re all here for you. The same way you’ve always been there for us.”

With her piece said, Dorothea headed back down the stairs and started the long walk back to her dorm. She couldn’t be sure, but she could have sworn she passed Edelgard as she walked out of the dining hall. She looked to the heavens at the thought. If anyone stood a chance of helping the Professor get back on his feet, it was Edie. All they had to do was leave it in her hands.


End file.
